


you are my sweetest downfall ( I loved you first. )

by wandasmaximoffs



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Don't say I didn't warn you, F/M, civil war spoilers, like major, pure angst and pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 07:08:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6694549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/pseuds/wandasmaximoffs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vision flinches slightly, an action he had previously thought impossible for the likes of himself. </p><p>(But then, his feelings around and pertaining to Wanda Maximoff have always been seen as impossible for the likes himself.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are my sweetest downfall ( I loved you first. )

“You should have let me die.”

 

Vision flinches slightly, an action he had previously thought impossible for the likes of himself.

 

(But then, his feelings around and pertaining to Wanda Maximoff have always been seen as impossible for the likes of himself. )

 

Never before to him has she spoken with such venom, and such emptiness respectively, and never have words from any human affected him so much as this. He watches her from the other side of the glass, watches the Captain fiddle with the collar around her neck, slowly free her arms from their restrains. Before, she had been chatting quietly to him, murmured greetings and exchanged apologies ( a lot heavier on the part of Steven, seeing the state she was in compared to the others. )

But then her eyes drifted, caught the glimpses of green and gold, and when he catches her gaze, he knows her words are directed at _him._

 

“In Sokovia. With my brother. With my _country. You should have let me die._ ”

 

( Movement seems to cause her pain, when they are led out of the cells, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and soothe her. However, synthezoid or not, he understands boundaries. He understands that she does not _want_ him to touch her anymore. )

 

* * *

 

When Vision and Natasha join the rest of them in the common area, he sits on one of the large sofas and occasionally lets his gaze drift to the other side of the room. There Wanda sits, curled under three blankets and yet still shaking, tucked against the side of the sofa as though she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Barton sits beside her, muttering quietly to her in broken Sokovian. At least he’s trying.

 

She ghosts a hand over her throat, the bruises there from a too-tight collar and guards with no respect still fading slowly.  
(It’s a habit she’s picked up lately, he’s noticed, and every time she does he feels a stab of what he now knows to be _guilt._ )

 

* * *

 

 

It’s near midnight when Barton finds him, emerging from Wanda’s room quietly. Vision had expected him to stay at the farm, but instead had spent a week there and returned. From what he can tell, his presence is primarily for Wanda, and he’s glad she has someone to trust. ( Even if that person is not him anymore.) It is also, he supposes, unsafe for his family for him to be there. A wanted fugitive.

 

Vision is standing in front of one of the large windows, staring out over the expanse of Wakandan land, as he’s made a habit of doing. Clint seems less interested in the vegetation, and instead turns his quiet intensity onto Vision, arms crossed over his chest. “She trusted you,” he says, and Vision exhales slowly.

“I tried to protect her.”  
“You tried to imprison her, you and Stark, when you had no right to. There’s a difference.”  
“She would have been safe here, she would have been--”  
  
Clint cuts him off with a scoff, arms falling to his sides. “She felt bad for what she did to you, y’know? I dunno why. They had her all chained up like a dog, and she was worryin’ about _you._ ”

 

Vision blinks, slowly, and forces himself to meet Clint’s gaze. _Chained up like a dog._ Of course, he’d seen her, assisting the Captain with their liberation. He doesn’t want to think about her like that again, and although all too willing to accept it, he does not want to think about the part he played in her being there. “I do not remember her treatment being similar to that of a dog, Agent Barton.”

 

Clint looks about ready to swing at him, eyes narrowing, fists clenching. “Oh, no? You don’t remember that _lovely_ collar that Cap had so much trouble gettin’ off of her? Guards were so scared of her, y’know, so every time she even _moved_ they got jumpy, an’ that fuckin’ collar would go _zap zap zap._ After a few days she just stopped movin’, just stared at the wall ‘till Cap appeared!”

 

Vision flinches at the mental image, and briefly wonders when this movement became habitual. He _does_ remember the collar. The straight jacket, too, and how stiff and painful her joints had been the days following. He lowers his gaze again, and Clint softens, slightly.

  
“I… I am sorry, Agent. I was not aware. Truly, Wanda does not deserve such treatment.”

 

He sighs, and crosses his arms again. “So go tell _her_ that. She ain’t gonna admit it, but the kid misses you. ”

 

* * *

 

Wanda is not looking at him. She’s looking at the floor, at her hands, at her legs, but not at him. (He supposes, should he have a heart, it would be breaking right about now.)

 

“I’m sorry,” She says, before he can even open his mouth, and he blinks. An apology. Unexpected. “For-- For what I did to you. When I left. I’m sorry.”

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers how still she sits, back against the wall, and sighs internally. The urge to reach out and soothe her returns, but he refrains, and chooses to soothe her vocally instead.

 

“Miss Maximoff. Wanda. I-- Consider it forgotten. I hold no ill will towards you, and I-- I hope you can forgive me, also, and know that you never have deserved the treatment you were given at the prison. It was inhumane, and intolerant, and I am sorry for not approaching you about it sooner. I’ve been rather worried about you, actually, though I know you have been avoiding me and I can see why, really.”

 

The words tumble out, uncharacteristically messy, and it’s only when he forces himself to stop talking that he realises he has taken the seat next to her, his hand splayed on the bed beside her as though to hold her own.

 

“All is forgiven.” She says, in the language of her home.

 

For the first time in weeks, her eyes lift and meet his. She takes his hand.

 

The smile she gives him is almost hopeful.

 

* * *

 

 

They eat breakfast together the next morning.

 

Vision notices, sadly, that almost all of the progress she has made in the past year has been erased. She takes a little more than half a bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of orange juice, and does not speak. He sits across from her, arm outstretched to allow his hand to meet hers in the middle of the table. Of course, he does not eat, does not need to, but keeps up a semi-cheerful conversation with her so as not to make her feel self-conscious.  

 

They earn a few raised eyebrows from various passers-by: Clint, searching for coffee; Natasha looking for an energy drink; Steve, whose gaze lingers on Wanda’s neck for a second too long before he moves on to grab a glass of orange juice. (Wanda pretends not to notice, and simply gives him a small smile. )

 

The bruises are almost completely faded now, and where they are still dark Wanda has covered them with makeup and a thick-collared cardigan. Sometimes he wishes he could talk to her about it, as a guarantee she isn’t bottling her emotions or trying to hold anything too damaging inside. He wants her to be happy, though he knows it will take a long while before she reaches the point at which she will allow herself to be.

In his eyes, there is no one as deserving of happiness as Wanda Maximoff.

 

( “Is not the first time I have been confined to a cell,” she’d laughed, on the second of the few times he’d broached the subject. “And certainly, will not be the last. Worry not, love. All is well.” )

* * *

 

 

Later, she joins him on the balcony of his room. ( a feature her room is lacking, for obvious reasons.) They sit together, watching the setting sun, and Vision relishes in the feeling of her curling into his side, her head against his chest.

 She sighs contently when he plants a soft kiss to her hair, and he dares to hope that they may make it through this war in one piece.  

**Author's Note:**

> oh my GOD so I watched civil war and just fell in love with these two all over again honestly. feel free to comment and leave kudos, or come visit me on tumblr at wanndamaximoff.tumblr.com!


End file.
